


Twisted Love

by LegendofMajora



Series: Twist and Pull [1]
Category: Durarara!!
Genre: Angst, Gang Rape, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, M/M, Rape Recovery
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-06
Updated: 2014-11-06
Packaged: 2018-02-24 08:05:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,449
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2574254
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LegendofMajora/pseuds/LegendofMajora
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Izaya learns that Shizuo loves him, leading to cold feet, an argument, and kidnapping. Shortly after, it's rebuilding their relationship while falling apart because Izaya can't explain and Shizuo doesn't understand how much it hurts.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Twisted Love

**Author's Note:**

  * For [twistedlove](https://archiveofourown.org/users/twistedlove/gifts).



"Bullshit."

Such a familiar insulting lilt of a tone, bold and taut from the monster the one word dismissal becomes official in rousing the informant lying in a pile of trash. Today is not his day, and with the arrival of Shizuo—accompanying the blinking out the blinding rays of sunlight and Shizu-chan's ugly hair. Not appreciated at all.

"Shizu-chan," Izaya greets from down below in the—oddly fitting—reeking depths of piles of garbage bags. Where is he, again? And by how the sun's next to blinding him if Shizu-chan's stupidity isn't, he's not entirely sure, but maybe it's been a day or two and he's not too sure about anything either. But he knows his head pounds like a hangover and a migraine fucking with the congested, nasal tone of a constipated Frenchman. Not nice comparisons and originally from Shinra and Shizuo's brand of stupid, but his brain's on autopilot—thinking (reject feeling reject end now) Shizuo's face makes him want to roll over and suffocate—unable, literally, to do much more than petty saved insults.

"..." Shizuo's quiet, but Izaya feels those eyes—sunglasses off, staring too hard too deeply and it's making his skin itch _don't stare—_ penetrating too much and his headache pounds in agreement. The bruise coloring half of his face from his left eye twisting down his jaw past split lips trickles to his trachea. "...The fuck, flea?" Ugh. What now, Shizu-chan? What can a monster like him possibly want now, right after he finds Izaya lying in a pile of trash and (thankfully) covered by his jacket so the idiotic amoeba doesn't see. It's one of these times Izaya thinks he hates him and actually somewhat likes him—liar, liar—because Shizuo's dumb enough to not see but too stupid to stop asking and actually pay attention. Well, Izaya is in the shadows. But _still,_ that isn't an excuse to be an idiot.

Maybe it's because they're fighting. Or, they were however many days ago Izaya can remember the slamming of a door, thinking it's time to give up on this game when Shizuo's asking for so much and it— _hurts_ when he wants it, craves it, _needs—_ leads to Izaya taking leave. He can't handle certain requests that he doesn't expect. And maybe it's a little stupid, but he's pretty sure he's fucked up. By Shizuo's definitions, a lot more than he can observe.

And the percentage of his mind agreeing with this theory is one hundred percent. Of course it is. "What… Why are you even out here, flea? Trying to tell me something?" He pinches the bridge of his nose, trying to restrain his anger and keep from lashing out. It's the trick Izaya taught him two years ago first rekindling their rivalry into something agreeable. However small the action is, Izaya's heart aches with an acid reflux-type burn and his breath catches (like it always has) and he dismisses the thoughts rushing in past the throbbing between his ears. Focuses on the fact Shizuo is _extremely_ angry. Furious, rage-induced, maddening disgust. The reason why is the same reason they fought however many days ago.

Because that's when Shizuo says he loves him. And now, it's more of the past version _said_ when it's making itself very clear to Izaya that Shizuo isn't impressed. Izaya pretends he doesn't understand—like it doesn't hurt, walking out that door and taking off to flee for his sanity—and they could go on like that in the past. But then Shizuo's gone with it and makes it hard to hide away the disgusting mush Izaya can feel creeping under his skin when Shizuo's fingers are there. Whether it's words in his ears, thoughtless kisses and caresses he manages to take when Izaya's caught off guard, and or the (three, exactly) times Shizuo has held onto him longer than he can afford to force himself to pretend it doesn't bother him, it's the slow burn that feels like hot coals vibrating down his spinal column.

Contrary to popular belief, it's only been several seconds of silence that pass when Izaya tries to piece together what he remembers—before, think of before _that—_ and the impatient tapping of Shizuo's shoe brings him reluctantly back to the present. How Izaya's not a painted mess of rapidly-cooling blood spraying against a wall dotted with organs, bones, and flesh, is completely unprecedented. And he thinks he can read Shizuo. (Wrong. He can never read his monster. A god and his unpredictable monster. But when the monster revolts, it's not his anymore.) "Well, besides lying in this oddly comfortable pile of garbage, I'm sleeping." It's sadly pathetic how Shizuo's eyebrow twitches in what Izaya knows is the first step of losing his temper. All from one little sarcastic comment. Either Shizuo's not feeling well—neither is he, if wellness at all and more like sick to his stomach—or the bags under his eyes mean he's not just ugly but hasn't slept. Izaya chooses all of the above when it's much easier to humor himself in his echoing head of angry headaches.

"Don't you have an apartment, shitty flea?" Gritting his teeth. Nice touch, Shizu-chan, but Izaya's not fooled even when he feels like death warmed over. "If you hate me that much, why wouldn't you just go there—Wait, let me guess, you want to make me feel like shit for playing along with you, and now you're in shit because you're a fucking asshole." Fingers twitching, Izaya recognizes all of the signs of Shizuo's body, for a cigarette or smashing something into tiny, unrecognizable bits. And with a correct guess he assumes it's his head. Whatever. Not like the stupid thing is doing anything besides ache (Shizuo has the allure of warmth and because he's slightly shivering and he tells himself it's just the cold, his headache is plotting stupid ideas in his head) and he really would like to go home. Or somewhere besides here. But it's a bit difficult, more so because of an unforeseen issue with standing or moving.

Izaya doesn't speak. He knows this is another rage Shizuo has to get through and even if he speaks, Shizuo will ignore him anyway. That doesn't mean—stop that. Get it together. But his head pounds and he finds the words clumsily dripping out like the blood oozing down his legs, drying and itchy on raw wounds. "I would, Shizu-chan, if I could..." Blood runs cold and he shivers, trying not to let Shizuo see just how much a fucking _sentence_ is reducing the last of his autopilot self-control, all because of the last thing Shizuo's said and it's a bullet fired into his brain that throbs and burns to the core. This isn't the time to say it. Don't do it, what happens if—

Weakly he gestures to his covered legs that are curled into his chest underneath his jacket. And if Shizuo looks a little closer, steps a little further away from blind ignorance, then maybe he can see. Surely he can't miss the dark bruise that looks like a broken mask on Izaya's face. Izaya wonders if by that time it'll be too late. Laughs to himself bitterly, because oh, the irony.

"What are you talking about?" Shizuo refrains from his colorful use of expletives, stepping closer and Izaya can't contain the shudder that starts at the back of his head and trickles down his spine. It usually ends with looking ridiculous as he's curling further into himself. It's the fear talking, he bets. Only it doesn't (shouldn't) exist. This can't be fair how the game's scores are being played out.

"D-Don't." Izaya adds too quickly, too hastily for Shizuo to listen. Although there's not much of a chance of that, Izaya always thinks, but he doesn't know that he's uttering a plea that isn't the confident facade he conducts himself with. But half of his mask is swelling and stinging and throbbing right in front of him. Shizuo is more perceptive than Izaya or anyone has given him credit before. But it doesn't take anything to figure Izaya out when he's this...helpless. Something is wrong and it itches like a fresh scar on the front of his mind, pushing past the expected battlefield of anger and other messy emotions that are a front in themselves. To make up for what he thinks he can't be.

"Izaya," has to remind himself this isn't just bickering anymore and he lowers his voice, calm and gentle as best as he can, "what's going on?" Doesn't ask about the bruise. He's refraining but it's a curiosity when he never put it there. Never would, too. Izaya doesn't know that. Even if Izaya doesn't answer him or makes fun of what he feels and says, he has to remind himself why he's here in the first place. It's because he cares—he loves the slowest brilliant idiot in the world. And it's not going to get any better if he doesn't say anything and let Izaya brood on his own. There are red eyes staring, wide like a child's with what isn't amusement when Shizuo gets close, kneeling down to Izaya lying on a pile of garbage bags. Then the stench of dried blood—the kind of rotting and metallic scent that is vomit-inducing—stains his nose and he thinks for a moment it's the trash just before he gets close enough to see that Izaya's jacket is stained.

Red. Bright, blooming red that matches the color of Izaya's eyes (look, a black and purple bruise that swells the entire left side of Izaya's face) and the fur trim is dripping into a puddle when it's soaking wet. Izaya looks pale, even paler when Shizuo is in his space and trembles involuntarily under the cover of his ruined jacket. He thinks Shizuo doesn't see the flinch when large hands—bigger than his own and capable of crushing anything—move to his jacket where coincidentally, his knees are. The action triggers a flashback in a dark room, cold sofa cushions pressing against his cheek and laughter (it's ugly, all of it and it grates his ears like chalkboard nails) and he feels the bubbling urge to scream and laugh and cry at the back of his throat.

"What..." Shizuo's breath hitches in what isn't surprise and more shock and uneasiness. "Izaya. Fuck, Izaya, are you bleeding?" Izaya doesn't have the chance to respond before Shizuo rips off the jacket blanket, eyes widening almost comically when he feels the _squelch_ of soggy fabric tightening in between fingers. It almost diverts his attention at this critical point. Izaya's not sure he's in control of this funny little joke, almost like it's the real thing when Shizuo's ruined the punchline and his clothes are too soaked and ripped to hide anything else. But he flinches anyway even if he's hurting too much to move. "Shit, shit, shit. What happened to you?" Concern reeks in his voice and Izaya wrinkles his nose, almost convinced by how real the pain in his voice sounds. It's probably because Izaya is soaked in different levels of drying blood and grime, and more importantly the slimy chilled mess of semen slowly leaking out from a certain place that Shizuo sounds like he's actually trying to care. Shouldn't Shizuo be laughing? Well, if he is, then why for a year and a half play this game? Why not let him die, like _they_ did?

"N-No, don't touch—" Too late. Shizuo's arms are at his shoulder and under his knees, lifting him up (ow, ow, why does it hurt this much it shouldn't be this bad) and pulling him so close and his grip is too tight to breathe. Izaya's heart is struggling to break free of his ribs; pulse accelerating to the point of bursting his blood vessels. Shizuo doesn't know the dam he's just torn down with explosives and his bare hands. One moment he's too frightened to move as he's struck with a sensory overload of confinement on a couch, chained down and truly helpless, to struggling wildly within Shizuo's grasp and breathing harshly because he can't keep the pace of inhale and forgets to exhale. He can only do so much when his veins are pressure valves filled to the maximum and teetering over the edge of bursting. His mouth tastes like bitter and a cup of sea salt rubbed into his taste buds until he can't forget. There is skin clipped between his teeth when he bites and a sledgehammer kisses his cheek.

He doesn't make the same mistake again.

"Iza—" he complains, easily holding Izaya's vicious struggling in his arms but it's hard to get him help when he's delirious with whatever is wrong with him. Seeing him like this isn't satisfying. It's gut-wrenching and he can't just let Izaya suffer like this. It's all so confusing, what's going on from being angry in pain to this. Whatever it is but his mind's too busy to classify it. That bruise stings his own face. "Izaya, calm down—look: I'm not hurting you. I'm trying to get you to Shinra; that's all." he shushes as best as he can, standing and holding onto Izaya tighter when he pulls himself off his knees. He doesn't know what's going on. But it makes his stomach churn uneasily and he's nervous, worrying too much and maybe he won't say it, but he can't stand the sight of a pitiful Izaya.

Izaya's eyes are not focusing on anything. They're hazy and staring off into space and by the time Shizuo's holding him (too tightly?) enough to keep him from thrashing any more, the blank look on his face remains when the tremors ride down his nerves to his fingertips. Off in his own world of up, up, and away when in reality it's much more sinister, face down and chained like an animal for slaughter. "Izaya, hey," Shizuo tries again, shifting Izaya so his head droops onto a shoulder while trying to elicit a response. It's several seconds more of the unwelcome silence (at any other time he thinks it would've been useful) before Shizuo decides he can't risk it.

He takes off running, feeling the fast-drying chill of blood soaking into his shirt. Not too long ago he wouldn't mind this, as long as it's Izaya's and he doesn't look at the blood he can pretend Izaya's a monster. How his twisted grin makes Shizuo's blood boil and his heart pound itself into a beaten and battered tangle of confusion, anger, and ache by the time he drags himself home and his mind's already scorching with the trembling patterns of self-hate for losing control. Losing to Izaya, again. And it's the time when he reaches his apartment and showers the mistakes away that he thinks even killing the flea won't make a difference. Izaya still wins their games. And the mind game—always interrupting Shizuo's thoughts whether he's in a deep sleep or wide awake—he's won since day one.

Oh, Shizuo; he can't fool himself no matter how hard he tries.

_~_

"...Stop throwing vending machines at me." It's the first murmur from Izaya, overhearing what he thinks is Shizu-chan muttering expletives under his breath in usual angry fashion. The room feels dark and heavy and his eyes aren't opening, but everywhere hurts.

"Good to hear from you again." Shinra says and it's completely insincere, Izaya bets his smile is just as fake as his voice. "You should be fine soon, with all the stab wounds you took it's kind of hard to believe you haven't bled to death. But I wonder how they got there." But Shizu-chan isn't saying anything, and the tense air in the room is becoming tangible. If that's where he is. But he guesses he's on Shinra's couch, feeling how uncomfortable it is on his back. And, if he bothers to pay attention past the aching at the front of his mind, he smells something awful. Like garbage and rot. If this is what he smells like to Shizuo, it makes sense that Shizuo has sanitation issues. Ew.

He doesn't open his eyes, still wanting the lasting tendrils of sleep to take him back or get a refund. That is, as he's on the cusp of falling back asleep until a hand grabs his right one in a crushing grip. It's more than enough to pry his eyes open, blearily coming back into the world of light and leaving the comfort of sleep. This time Shizuo beats him to the punch, almost literally. "Oi, flea, quit acting like you're dead. Get up already." Usual grit and growl as always, Shizu-chan.

"'m not dead yet, idiot." Izaya replies in English, making Shizuo even more confused because of course the brute doesn't know anything besides basic Japanese. If at that, too. "Let go of me, Shizu-chan. You're annoying." He tugs his hand firmly in Shizuo's tight grip, narrowing his eyes to exacerbate Shizuo's bad mood with a dare to defy him. Nothing though, scares Shizuo more than seeing Izaya bleeding to death in a pile of garbage. Izaya can tell when he meets Shizuo's eyes, engulfing him with the stare that only a beast can have. He wonders if Shizuo knows.

Come on, say something, Shizuo. "You're quite lucky Shizuo and Celty convinced me to operate, especially with a blood transfusion that you needed. Some of your major organs have glancing damage, but nothing too serious without too much aggravation." Shinra says, smiling as always and it makes a perfect target board for a flickblade. Izaya glares, feeling medication swirl behind his eyes. "Oh, stop being dramatic, Izaya-kun. You're fine." He turns to Shizuo, grabbing Izaya's right arm and checking the pulse at his wrist. "Shizuo, why don't you go get some lunch for all of us with Celty? I'm sure you two can hang out while I finish up here." Izaya knows this is an excuse, without having to grasp the insecure tone of Shinra's nonchalance falling apart.

Somehow, Shizuo knows too. (He doesn't look the same, is it his face?) Perhaps he's clever enough to not say anything about it, but he nods and heads over to wherever Celty is. Izaya watches him go, almost in disbelief that Shizuo's letting it go and doubts are starting to take over his head, sinking in with sharp teeth and venom-like saliva. Flicking his eyes back to Shinra he almost raises an eyebrow in question, wondering where this is going and why is Shizuo so quiet (maybe that's it, Izaya can't put his finger on it) and not unlike a beast? And when Shizuo's out of his sight—he hates the thoughts that come—his mind is nervous. Fingertips down to every last muscle are wound tight, waiting to spring so he can (escape, escape, escape) defend himself if needed. Against what, he doesn't want to clarify the bitter taste that he sees in Shinra's eyes when Shizuo and Celty walk out the door. His mouth burns with bile and blood.

"Care to explain, Izaya?" All pretenses dropping, Shinra lets go of Izaya's wrist when he deems his pulse satisfactory. "No, you can't hide that look you have. I may not know you very well at all, but you can't fool me when it's this obvious. Maybe not to Shizuo," he sighs, running a hand through his hair before he pushes his glasses up the bridge of his nose, "but I don't know what he knows. What you know is an entirely different story. So tell me." Shinra's quick, but Izaya is a master of hiding.

"What have you found then, doctor? Tell me, and I'll explain." As nonchalantly as possible he tries to keep himself from doing this right now. If he has humility, he should be embarrassed by now and ashamed of what's happened. But he doesn't, or so he tells himself that he doesn't feel anything. It works, so he can internalize any and every little detail that doesn't suit him well. Study it later, and banish it. "You can't just ask me to explain from the beginning. There's just too much." The truth makes Shinra's hardened stare wilt just a little more. He frowns instead of the lip-pressing neutral grimace expecting a flood. What he's going to get isn't just the storm, it's the entire tsunami.

"Let's start with the beginning. What happened to make you run off—before you glare at me like that, Shizuo-kun only told me that you two had a disagreement and you stormed off." Shinra has to make things harder, doesn't he. And he sits at the sofa across from Izaya, close to the edge so they're only feet apart. Izaya swallows, stifling another shudder—he hates those—and forces himself to pretend he's not here right now, discussing what is possibly one of the most disgusting and sticky act of violence against him. All for a petty revenge and too tired to fight drugs and bindings. Pun intended.

He doesn't feel like laughing, however. There's a hoarse chuckle bubbling up his throat from his chest and he thinks he should just to appease Shinra and play it off further, but he can't. It's annoying and frustrating and humiliating—why now, of all times here—so he goes with a bitter frown that's supposed to be a smile. "Shizu-chan said he loved me. I got cold feet." So simply, so easily spilled when the foot kicks him in the stomach and blood comes spurting from his bruising jaw—

Izaya's having something akin to a seizure when his heart stops, dropping right out from his chest and smashes onto the floor. He wants to stomp on it just for kicks, but his lungs are closing up and his throat burns too much to do much of anything besides let some pathetic noise slip past his lips. His vision's blurring too fast and too much, swimming and tangling images of Shinra jumping up to him and he wants to sit up but when he flops pathetically it stings. "I'm fine, I'm fine," he babbles—the coverup is such a lie he cringes because it's not even close—next to choking to death on whatever hand's clutching his throat now—he can smell the sweat and hear the panting voices when they go deeper, harder, _faster,_ until he's vomiting blood and a metal pole smacks him into unconsciousness—whether or not he's talking to himself or Shinra he's not sure. It isn't reassuring when he arches upward, spasming and coughing when he chokes on his own saliva, demanding more air and more than just delusional because he's back in that same room, blindfolded and preparing to kill himself with his dislocated shoulder. Pulling tendons at the breaking point (oh, fragile mind) and muscles ripping when he shudders and mouths an apology to make a perfect noose.

It doesn't work. Shinra doesn't get through, calling out his name and holding Izaya's limbs as he flops and flails, dragging in deep into memories he tries so hard to forget. They're poising at his throat, ready to push and slice through whatever unnecessary if he moves and dares to cry out. Izaya gasps like a fish out of water, drowning in the fluid of his own blood clogging his throat while he's too injured to scream and too prideful to make a sound. They can't break what isn't theirs. No, he can't break when he's a god and they're selfish humans who want too much only when they're bored. Needy, greedy grubby hands and fingernails like claws that rip his skin apart, looking for more, more. Shinra's calling—the sound of death knocking at his door, rattling his front teeth down to the bones that only turn to dust when his time's up. However long he can last is what they look for. One holds his knife to Izaya's throat, threatening to cut out his eyes if he spits out the taste of (death) pure salt.

"Izaya, Izaya, you're having a panic attack, calm down!" Shinra tries and yes, oh Shinra, he's supposed to know that holding Izaya down won't stop him from exacerbating his torn shoulder and the ripping of stitches. In effect, taking control will only make Izaya worse. Shinra should know when he's seen the damage between his thighs. If he closes his eyes, Shinra's the same hands on him, bruising and clawing while his body scrapes against the concrete floor, catching on shards of a broken bottle and this time it's a gun at his head, poising to shoot when he falls too early off the high ledge built up by shame. Nothing works quite right. He feels too hot, too stiff, too much throbbing and heat-sucking noises that squelch and stick—"I'm sedating you right now, Izaya. You're going to hurt yourself if you keep this up!" he threatens and the syringe is already out of his pocket, ready to be aimed and stabbing into his flesh.

Izaya freezes, feeling the prick of the syringe and with the cold rush in his veins he feels the ache of his entire body come back, increasing tenfold. When his vision clears and he's paralyzed on the spot, he sees Shinra looking down at him—don't stare, he doesn't need _pity—_ and fingers curling around his wrists, watching carefully for any signs of struggle. While Izaya's panicked thoughts (ugh, ew) are shoved under a blanket of medication and pushed to the back of his mind, he's still wide-eyed and very much feeling undead. Like a monster—Shizu-chan.

The only sign of life (he's sure he can't feel his pulse anymore) is the deep ache that rattles him to the core.

"Izaya," Shinra's voice is light, almost delicate but he keeps that professional edge and pushes the pity out of it. Izaya's reluctantly grateful for it. "I know," _what happened?_ "and I haven't told anyone. I found out from a fissure...there. You were bleeding when I was cleaning you up." Only Shinra's seen him that far, and they're not even together. Shizuo, however, can't know. He just can't. "You don't have to tell me. Just nod if I get it right, okay?" Shinra waits for the nod, sitting back down and his hands retract from burning Izaya's wrists. He hates this.

Izaya watches him sit, taking slow breaths as his throat starts to open up again and keeping his eyes on Shinra. He wants to say, push that he's fine and it's all an elaborate joke but his brain is failing, so he can't really think of an excuse and stop looking like that. "You, for some reason, got scared when Shizuo said he loves you." _Present_ form, not _past_ like it's supposed to be. "You left his apartment, ran off to who-knows-where. Somehow, someone or something got caught up with you, either outnumbered you or got you from behind, and you were kidnapped." Izaya hates how Shinra words it, but he nods numbly when his tongue dries in his mouth and he doesn't move. Breathing, feeling each rush of sedatives with the pattern of inhale and exhale. "To be short, you were tortured. Physically and sexually—" Izaya feels the urge to squirm and forget that he's listening to this. He shouldn't, he really shouldn't. "Until you managed to escape, or were dumped when they finished. Shizuo found you not too long after, didn't he." Not a question, no answer. Shinra already can confirm the worst and so Izaya won't bother with humoring him a little more. Instead, his eyes roll to the ceiling and all he sees is blinding white.

"Izaya," Shinra's still talking after moments of silence. "I did a kit. The results will take two months, if you want. I can try and shorten it, but that's only if you want it." He knows the answer, but he has the annoying habit (in Izaya's opinion) of never being intuitive enough to figure it out for himself. Simply dragging this on as long as possible. "But besides that, You had fifteen stab wounds, seven in major organs but due to resistance, they didn't harm too much past the muscle and scratching the surface. And for the rest of you, I don't need to tell you there are bruises which will match your attackers' hands and fingers. Since there are three different types, I'm guessing there were three people." A nod. "As for what we do now is your call. But I know you won't let me live if I tell Shizuo." he sighs, pressing his lips together in thought. "He needs to know, Izaya. You two are in a committed relationship and despite what you think, he loves you. He's not mad, Izaya. He's worried that you fought him—you even bit him when he picked you up." Hm. Izaya doesn't have any memory of it, but he bets the brute can handle it while the informant decides to close himself off from the world, as quietly and quickly as possible so he can forget about this and go back to his apartment.

It's not shame. He feels nothing. Rinse and repeat. "Don't do that." Shinra tsks, "You're not as strong as you want to be. It's called being human, Izaya. It means you're not a monster, no matter how much you refer to yourself as." Shinra's letting their friendship seep into his words, making this even more uncomfortable when this is the last thing Izaya wants to hear. He doesn't _care._ If he can push it all away and pretend it never happened, then he'll move on. Stop making such a big deal out of it, Shinra. "Luckily," his voice lowers, dropping back into a serious note, "the ones responsible bragged about it. I don't know all of what they said, but Shiki-san has his ways when it's to an informant of his they admitted what they've done. They were trying to get into the yakuza, with the wrong man." Shinra stops, remembering the flurry of texts he sent to Shiki after getting one from the man. "He says you can decide their fates." Shinra smiles, and Izaya stares while he cracks a pathetic excuse from his frown, turning the corner of his lip upwards.

Izaya remembers something. "The blood transfusion, who was it?" Not like he particularly cares, but he's curious while his mind settles with fog. Shinra raises an eyebrow, confused when Izaya asks.

"You mean you don't know? I don't keep blood on hand, but Shizuo-kun knew your blood type. He has a compatible type, so he was your donor. That's why he was looking paler earlier." He turns away, thinking to himself. "Speaking of that, I hope he hasn't fainted. Well, I doubt it. He's pretty tough." While he's thinking about his beloved Celty—it's disgustingly obvious in his face when his face lights up—he doesn't notice the short smile that warps Izaya's lips, caught between a sneer and a smile. It's a little more than creepy.

"Of course Shizu-chan wouldn't." His fingers are trembling. He tells himself they're not, doesn't look. "He's a monster." Shinra will never know, he decides without second thought, what his attackers did to keep him contained. Bribery doesn't work with informants; they know too much.

Shinra sees Izaya's eyelids drooping with the drug taking effect. "Go to sleep, Izaya. Celty and Shizuo-kun should be here soon." He stands, moving to the kitchen to prepare himself some tea by the way a kettle whistles. Izaya sees that his clothes are changed to Shinra's undoubtedly—they're way too small to be Shizuo's, but too large to be Izaya's own.

"Tell Shiki-san labor and trafficked. Let his men play with them first." Izaya calls, closing his eyes and thumbing the hem of Shinra's shirt. It smells like antiseptic, and not at all like Shizuo.

Shinra turns from pouring himself a cup of tea, almost hearing the laugh in Izaya's voice. "Shizuo-kun changed your clothes, Izaya-kun. He insisted that you would prefer it." he informs, and after a second passes laughter explodes from his occupied sofa, sounding akin to a cackle. A chill runs down his spine and being the doctor he is, (and friend) he pretends it doesn't make the hair on the back of his neck rise.

Some things never change.

_~_

He really doesn't want to have this conversation. But Shizu-chan is relentlessly annoying. "Izaya, you can't keep this from me forever. I get that it's not something you want to talk about, but I need to know." he says, watching Izaya from drinking a small carton of milk fresh from the refrigerator in the kitchen. Izaya's lying on Shizuo's couch, watching some children's show (for _experimenting_ , he argues) even though he's not watching at all. He hasn't been focused on anything since waking up in a pile of garbage and pretending that he's fine. Can't let Shizuo know when there are bandages as proof of what happens when someone gets too close. "Oi, flea," Shizuo calls, quietly moving over and perching on the arm of the couch, "what's going on?"

Izaya's eyes flicker to him, seeing far too—the hurt in his eyes, why is it there—much and quickly forcing his eyes to flicker away while his throat seems to tighten. "Nothing, Shizu-chan." he dismisses tightly, losing the voice behind his words so it comes out tighter and far more controlled than Izaya originally intends (he groans, realizing what this means now) and knows that this mistake is going to lead to more. Weight shifts at the end of the couch, lifting Izaya's feet—pretends that his breathing doesn't quicken the moment his heart jumps into his throat and lodges itself—up and gently setting them back onto the surface of Shizuo's lap. He wants to squirm and pull his knees into his chest so Shizuo can't see the trembling that's aching his bones. It's not visible yet but he doesn't want or need Shizuo to see just how much little contact is making him react worse than he used to before.

What's more agonizing is that he's stuck between the crossroads of a tentative rebuilding of before their fight and he just _can't_ explain why Shizuo's fingers are burning holes into his feet while they rest on them, motionless. He wants to be here with Shizuo, enjoying the quiet time a day after Shinra sends him home with Shizuo keeping his grip loose and Izaya covered so no one sees Ikebukuro's strongest carrying the second strongest (and supposed archenemy) to his apartment. And for the first day back, he sleeps through it. But there's something that's been off and no matter what Izaya can't place it when he's awake again after the nightmares start cropping up. So he doesn't sleep, doesn't eat, doesn't do anything but sit and wait for the churning of his stomach to calm enough to remember how to feel alive again. It's almost baffling, how he's been so careful in his years of being an informant that he's never gotten more than broken bones at his worst. And for some reason, he slips up and it's all it takes to tear him down.

He doesn't expect it like this—should be over it already, what is he _doing—_ where his heart pounds erratically whenever someone else is nearby, namely Shizuo as much as he'd rather not admit. Palms sweat and a cold shiver down his spine (Shinra says he might have panic attacks and just to appease Shizu-chan's obnoxious insistence he takes the sedative medications) whenever Shizuo comes close. And then he sees how Shizuo hesitates to touch him, especially when he's mostly asleep but he wakes when Shizuo comes to check on him as he does every night where Izaya sleeps on the sofa. And Izaya can almost feel the urge radiating from Shizuo's fingers to touch him whether or not he's whimpering from another nightmare (he doesn't whimper, damn it) and yet he holds back because he knows Izaya isn't ready. And the two bottles of medications Shinra prescribes (painkillers and sedatives) haven't been touched yet.

"Hey," as if he can sense Izaya's pulse threatening to beat out of his chest, "I'm not hurting you. You're fine, Izaya." He can't admit how much it hurts when Shizuo says these sorts of things and it gives him a well-rounded punch to the stomach, reminding him forcefully how far he's gone and how much he's making Shizuo hurt with him in their paused relationship. It stings his eyes and throat, down his sinuses and he blinks, looking away and trying to calm himself again. This isn't how he's supposed to behave after a slip-up that shouldn't mean so much. Like he's not Orihara Izaya, the most dangerous and efficient information broker Ikebukuro has ever seen. Calm, composed, and emotionless while ruthlessly cruel to his victims. And Shizu-chan's supposed to be different but it doesn't mean throwing away what he remembers because he honestly can't.

"Izaya," Shizuo's voice is still a low sound above a murmur, but his eyes are on Izaya. They always are. With the ugly bruise that colors half of his face. It's faded a little more but it's an ugly blackish purple color that looks swollen twice as large as it was when he first saw it. "It's okay, you know." he fumbles with his words because he really isn't good at putting his thoughts into speech. Izaya's frown spreads into an amused smile tugging at the corners of his mouth, anyway. "To take a little time off from being yourself. No one's going to care." Because if they do, Izaya muses, Shizuo will send them flying. That's his usual promise and while he doubts it at times, he knows it can and will happen. When Izaya is still thinking to himself, Shizuo's fingers partake in massaging his feet, gentle presses and careful to stop once in a while when Izaya's breath hitches to make sure it's okay.

"Shizu-chan, don't." Izaya tries to reason, keeping the sting pooling in his throat as he talks around it, swallowing and unsure as to how to continue. He's losing his grip, his touch with forcing down whatever emotions he has and it's all because of...he'd rather not. "I'm fine—I'll be fine." he lies through his teeth when he can feel himself shaking.

"That's a lie, and you know it." Shizuo stops in his ministrations, taking on a hard edge because Izaya's still playing this game, skipping past what he needs to get through. Not around. "Izaya, you can't just shut it out because it happened. Or else you'll act like this, and you'll never get past it." he reprimands, eyes locking with Izaya's when cold red turn back to his for the second time in the night. Shizuo always acts out of his expectations, even when they're together and it's still tentative and careful. But the _love_ is too much to swallow and Izaya's only reverting to what he knows how to deal with. And that's anger.

"I don't want to talk about it, Shizu-chan. It's already happened. I have stitches, nothing else." Along with his legs aching since the day he was violated the first time. And the many times after that. But he chokes on the welling up that happens to stick in his throat at a dangerously pitiful level of what sounds and feels like a sob. He can't and won't let it. This isn't happening, it's just a lack of control because he hasn't been himself for a few days. That's it.

"Would you listen to me!?" Shizuo suddenly snaps, then when he realizes his mistake he quickly adjusts his voice from the hard edge. "You can't pretend to be invincible forever! Hell, Izaya, you don't want to admit you're human and that you're hurting. And I can't help you if you don't help yourself. I have no idea what's happened, only I've seen the knife wounds and the bruises, but I can't help you get past this if you're not telling me what's bothering you. I see the look in your eyes, Izaya—you can't fool me. I know you're afraid whenever I'm near you, and it's frustrating because I don't know what I can do to _help_." he stresses, sounding exasperated but he's still there, focusing on the conversation that needs to be said.

Izaya shudders. The defiant look in his eye betrays his action though. "I don't _need_ your help! All I need is for you to drop it, Shizu-chan." Refuses to admit that Shizuo's right and it does hurt, the way he keeps throbbing no matter what and that gentle touch he's been craving is too much to give in to. His voice still cracks when he adds emphasis to try and make his point which is smothered with how unconvincing he sounds. Shizuo doesn't buy it—but he never has before.

"Why won't you tell me?" Shizuo launches in again, angry and his voice rising like the tides of a storm. "Is it something I've done to you, or is it that you can't trust me anymore?" He looks so angry at himself when he stares bitterly at the television, speaking mainly to himself but audible to Izaya. "I love you, Izaya. And when you do this—you keep me away from when you're not at your best, it makes me think that you don't..."

"Don't you _dare._ " Izaya snaps, hearing the disappointment in Shizuo's voice and it matches his own when he hears such a treacherous accusation. "Shizu-chan, why can you not get it in your empty head that I don't want to talk about it? I said it happened and it's over, so get over yourself!" His anger is getting the best of him the way it bubbles under his skin and scratches his throat. It's all but keeping the memories away that are locked in his head, from the cold touch of the floor to the clammy grip of hands pulling him down to their level, demolishing his throne of a god. Like they have the permissible right to touch and grab as they please when they rip his clothes off of him but manage to keep them in tact for 'later use' before he's lying in garbage but he reeks of _them._ And the scent is itchy and sweltering.

"I don't know what you're thinking, flea." Shizuo finally sighs with a huff. "I have no idea what's going on or why unless you tell me. And I'm not about to just pick you apart without considering you. This isn't a game and I refuse to reduce you to that just because you're upset. If you're upset with me, then that's fine. But just let me know what I've done wrong." Shizuo stands abruptly, leaving Izaya's feet to bounce when they hit the warmed surface of the couch and he watches as the blond leaves the room. "Or forgive me if you can." Feet thud against the ground as Izaya watches wide-eyed the departure of Shizuo, turning down the hallway to his room.

The door shuts though it's like it slams instead as Izaya recoils, curling into himself and for a moment, he doesn't speak. His mind is confused as it tries to interpret and translate at the same time what's just happened and what he's done. Because obviously enough, he didn't try to stop Shizuo from leaving him where he still stifles a shiver and knows that it isn't Shizuo who triggers the panicking thoughts. It's the lack of reassurance he can only find in Shizuo. However it isn't available after he's done this.

When a moment's up, Izaya draws himself into a ball with knees pressing tightly into his chest he rests his head on his folded arms and sighs. Tells himself that the moisture in his eyes already falls and he's simply too tired to deal with anyone anymore. Especially himself.

Despite his best efforts, he chokes on a noise slipping from his throat that sounds suspiciously like pushing past the breaking point.

He doesn't cry. Not him. Not because he's frustrated with Shizuo for being an idiot and asking for too much (he should know that Izaya can't just explain as bluntly as the blond can) and not understanding past the scratches on the surface.

And certainly not because he feels like an invalid while his lower abdomen aches with a dull throb.

It's only the sound of losing his composure long enough to realize that he's not okay.

**Author's Note:**

> **I am no longer writing stories.**
> 
> Psst. Surprise twistedlove; this is for you. I hope you enjoy. :) Will it have a sequel? That's up to you.
> 
> Almost done with my other request for wufantasiesandtrashpop. I'm sorry it's taken so long but it will be up 11/8; thank you for your patience. 
> 
> ...I think I write way too much angst. Should I try something else? It's all I seem to write, hmm. Especially with my writing style as dark as it is.
> 
> And if you have the time, I highly suggest watching "Izaya sings for Shizu-chan" on YouTube, where Johnny Yong Bosch sings in Izaya's voice for a love song to Shizuo. It's adorable. ...Tainted Love by Soft Cell is now stuck in my head. Somehow this has to apply.
> 
> Thank you for reading and enjoying, everyone.


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